15. Trigger
CHAPTER 15
TRIGGER
T he television screen flickers with C-SPAN’s seal, and I already know that whatever’s coming next is going to piss me off. I lower the volume on the rest of the security feeds and lean back in my chair, jaw clenched.
“This is it,” I mutter, eyes narrowing. “The bastard’s making his move.”
Senator Justus Blaine appears behind the podium, flanked by smug aides and stone-faced colleagues. I’d recognize that self-satisfied smirk anywhere. The camera tightens on him, catching the practiced lines of concern that never quite reach his eyes.
He begins, voice dipped in faux-patriotic sincerity.
“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen of the chamber—and to the millions of concerned citizens watching from home.”
I snort. “Concerned citizens my ass. Try scared Omegas and manipulated voters.”
Blaine continues, spewing the kind of bile that boils my blood.
“Today, I rise not as a partisan voice, but as a patriot and a father, deeply troubled by the escalating crisis threatening the very foundation of our great society: the unregulated movement and unchecked behavior of Omegas within our borders.”
“There it is,” I say aloud to no one. “The coded language.”
He pushes forward, his tone equal parts solemn and superior.
“We’ve seen an unprecedented rise in Omega disappearances. Tragic, yes. But equally alarming is the growing trend of self-governing ‘Omega-safe Cities’—pockets of radical autonomy where Omegas act without oversight, fueled by so-called ‘activists’ who confuse chaos with progress.”
I stand now, pacing the length of the room like a caged animal. He’s laying the groundwork. The fear. The justification. I know what’s coming next before the words even leave his mouth.
“To restore order and safety,” Blaine says, and I swear he almost smiles, “I am proud to introduce the Omega Responsibility & Accountability Act.”
My stomach turns. The screen fills with infographics. Each bullet point lands like a body blow.
Mandatory Omega Registration. “Like they’re weapons, not people,” I growl.
Restricted Mobility Clause. “So, they can’t even leave a city without begging for permission?”
Public Behavior Monitoring. “You want to regulate their scent now? Their biology? You sick, controlling piece of shit.”
Revocation of Advocacy Rights. “Of course. Silence the loudest voices.”
Omega Guardian Assignment Program. I stop pacing. My hand curls into a fist. “That is a leash. It’s a fucking leash.”
Blaine places a hand over his heart like the sanctimonious coward he is.
“Freedom is not the absence of rules—it is the presence of righteous order. And if we are to remain a civilized society, we must guide those who’ve forgotten how to follow.”
Applause breaks out in the chamber. A slow, poisonous wave of support.
I stare at the screen, fury burning a hole in my chest. I knew this was coming. Charlotte told us as much. This is some insidious shit. But seeing it spelled out so plainly, hearing the applause, like this is salvation instead of suppression, makes something inside me snap.
“You’re not guiding them,” I hiss at the screen. “You’re caging them.”
Her scent hits me first before her footsteps do. Honey and cinnamon, laced now with something scorched and sharp. Anger. Controlled, simmering, and precise. Like wildfire bottled inside glass.
I sensed her approach the moment the broadcast began. Of course she’d be watching. I knew she would come looking for me eventually. I can’t keep myself hidden away in my office for much longer. Hell, I don’t want to. I just wanted to give her space, give her time to adjust but hearing her with the others, it’s killing me.
I keep my eyes on the screen, refusing to acknowledge her presence. Not yet. I want to know how deep this cuts. I want to know what fury it stirs.
The senator’s face fills the screen, smug and assured.
“. . .and let me be perfectly clear, this isn’t about limitation—it’s about preservation. In a time where Omega abductions are on the rise, we must take steps to ensure their safety. Mandatory designation status logs, curfews for unbonded Omegas, and regulated scent-suppression routines for travel are common-sense safeguards.”
I hear her breath hitch behind me—soft, sharp, like the sound of a blade unsheathing.
“I understand some might say this infringes on freedoms,” the senator continues, “but what is freedom without security? What are rights if not structured for the betterment of all?”
He smiles. That practiced, empty smile meant to disarm.
“We cannot protect what we do not track. And let me remind you all, this is about ensuring our Omega population remains protected, healthy, and accounted for.”
The screen fades to the congressional seal, a nauseating montage of applause and rising music beneath it. I reach for the remote but don’t hit mute.
Charlotte speaks before I do. “Accounted for.” Her voice is low. Steady. But underneath it is thunder—building, rolling, preparing to crack the sky open.
I turn now, finally, and meet her eyes.
“I was accounted for,” she continues, stepping into the room like the force of nature she is. Her hair, freshly maintained, oiled and conditioned from her post work out shower, coils tight and soft around her face. Her arms are crossed, jaw tight, nostrils flaring. So, yeah, I’ve been observing from afar. I know her routine just as well as Josiah.
“I had a record. An address. I’d registered my designation, lived within a safe city, my travel patterns for advocacy events. I did everything I was supposed to.” Her gaze is volcanic, restrained only by sheer will. “And it didn’t stop them from dragging me into an alley and stuffing me into a fucking van.”
She pauses. I wait, holding my breath anticipating what she will say next.
“I was on every list. And none of that shit saved me.”
Silence settles like ash. I don’t move. I don’t dare interrupt.
“This law isn’t about safety. It’s about obedience. About control. It’s the leash they’ve been waiting for.” She takes a breath, then another, and when she speaks again, her voice is quieter—but harder. “They want to register us like livestock. Like weapons. They want us tagged and tracked so that when they take us again, because they will, no one will even flinch.”
She turns her gaze to the television, where the senator’s smug expression is frozen mid-applause.
“I hope he chokes on his own fucking legislation.”
The screen flickers in the dim light, but I don’t look away from her. Because right here, right now, she’s not just angry. She’s not just afraid. She’s becoming something else entirely.
Fire. Wrath. Revolution. God help Blaine when she finally erupts.
I round my desk and approach Charlotte slowly, careful not to crowd her. Her anger is justified, righteous—but beneath it, I sense something fragile. Something raw. The Alpha in me wants to soothe, to fix, to destroy whatever threatens what's mine. But she's not mine. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
"He hasn't won," I say, keeping my voice level despite the rage churning in my gut. "The senator hasn't gotten what he wants just yet. Those laws still have to go through another round of votes, committee reviews, public hearings."
Charlotte's eyes flash with skepticism. The honey-cinnamon of her scent turns sharper, almost burnt.
"And you think that matters?" She gestures toward the screen. "Look at that applause. Listen to how they frame it. Protection. Security. They're already selling it, and people are buying."
"We're going to expose him before he gets the chance." I take another step closer, close enough now to feel the heat radiating from her skin. "That's a promise. "
Her laugh lacks humor, a brittle sound that scrapes against my eardrums. "A promise." She shakes her head, shoulders slumping slightly. "I want to believe you, Teagan. I do. But everything I've fought for feels. . ." She searches for the word. "Moot," she finally says, voice barely above a whisper. "Every testimony. Every hand I've held. Every hug. Every goddamn promise that I would fight to make it better, not just for me but for all of us." Her eyes glisten, but her spine remains straight, defiant. "Yet they took me. Abused me."
Something in the air shifts. Her scent becomes muted, almost ashen. She hesitates, swallows hard, and I see the effort it takes for her to meet my eyes again.
"They raped me." The words hang between us, heavy and terrible. "I don't care if they forced my heat. It was rape." Her voice cracks, but she pushes through. "How do I push past that, Teagan? How do I swallow it down and keep going when I'm a shaky house of cards myself?"
My Alpha instincts have me ready to go to war, I try to bite back a snarl, a primal sound that rumbles from deep in my chest before I can stop it. My vision edges with red, pure unadulterated rage. I will have their names, their locations, and I will hunt every single person who touched her and tear them apart with my bare hands.
But that's not what she needs right now.
Fuck giving her space. Fuck being cautious. This woman standing before me, broken but somehow still standing, doesn't need my distance. She needs to know she's not alone.
I close the gap between us and wrap my arms around her. She tenses for a heartbeat before her body melts against mine, her face pressing into my chest. I breathe her in, that intoxicating scent now layered with grief and exhaustion. The instinct to protect her slams into me like a physical force, not because she's weak, but because she's fought too long alone.
"You haven't lost your strength," I murmur against her hair, one hand cradling the back of her head. "Your will to fight, to keep going, to keep waking up every fucking day despite what they did. . .that's exactly why we're going to put a stop to all of this."
I feel her trembling, feel the dampness spreading across my shirt where her tears land. Her fingers dig into my sides, gripping me like I'm the only thing keeping her from drowning.
"I'm scared," she confesses, words muffled against my chest. "Not just for me. For all of them. The Omegas who don't have a Hudson Pack to rescue them."
My arms tighten around her. "I know. But you're not alone in this fight anymore. We won't let them win."
And in that moment, holding her against me, breathing in her scent, feeling her heartbeat against mine—I make another silent promise. Not just to expose Blaine. Not just to dismantle his legislation. But to destroy anyone who ever hurt her.
I hold her against me for what feels like too short a time, savoring the honey and cinnamon scent that's finally not laced with fear and anger. My chest rumbles as the purr escapes me, soothing her, my instincts taking over with the sense of rightness of having her in my arms. But I know better than to think this solves anything. Comfort is temporary. Protection, real protection, takes strategy and patience.
When she pulls away I expect her to wipe her tears, to step back and rebuild her walls. Instead, she squares her shoulders and looks up at me with an intensity that catches me off guard.
"We?" Her voice is steady now, that momentary vulnerability tucked away. "You seem to be avoiding me, Trigger. I've trained with everyone, but you. Not even a one-on-one exchange. Why?"
Fuck.
I've been called out on sniper nests, interrogated by military brass, and stared down the barrel of a gun more times than I can count. But nothing, absolutely nothing, has ever pinned me in place like Charlotte Matthews’ direct question.
My jaw works before I speak, buying time. "I haven't been avoiding you."
The lie tastes sour on my tongue. Her eyebrow arches, calling my bullshit without a word.
"You want to try that again?" Her arms cross over her chest, accentuating curves and the mouthwatering swell of her breasts that I've been desperately trying not to notice. "Moses had me practicing takedowns yesterday. Beaux has been teaching me how to break zip ties. Even Josiah's showing me surveillance techniques." She steps closer, and I fight the urge to back up. "But you? Nothing. Not even a conversation that lasts longer than two minutes."
I run a hand over my face, dragging fingers through my short hair. "It's not what you think."
"Then what is it?" Her voice drops, vulnerability peeking through her armor again. "Because from where I'm standing—you know what, I can't say rejection because I don't expect anything from you. I shouldn't."
That cuts deeper than she knows. "Charlotte?—"
"Is it because I'm damaged goods now?" The words come out in a rush. "Because they forced my heat? Because I'm?—"
"Stop." The Alpha command nearly slips into my voice, but I catch it, soften it. "Just stop."
I move to the window, needing distance to think clearly. The setting sun casts long shadows across Central Park, the busy city sprawling below us.
"You want the truth?" I turn back to face her. "Fine. I've been keeping my distance because I don't want to trigger your heat."
Her eyes widen slightly, but she doesn't look away.
"After what you've been through, what you just told me, I don't, we don't want to push you into something you're not ready for." I drag a hand down my face. "Your body's been manipulated and violated. The last thing you need is three Alphas and a Beta making it worse."
"That should be my decision, don't you think?" Her voice is quiet but firm. "You're making choices for me based on what you think I can handle. "
She's right, and it pisses me off because I thought I was doing the right thing by trying to protect her.
"How am I supposed to trust you, all of you, when you're actively avoiding me? That's not protection, Teagan. That's abandonment."
The accusation lands like a punch to the gut. "I would never abandon you. As long as you're with us, you are safe, protected."
"No? Then what do you call it?" She steps closer, her scent growing stronger, making my head swim. "I get it. I understand the risks. I know what my heat could mean around you all. But how can I trust you to handle it if you can't even be in the same room with me?"
Something in her voice shifts, becomes smaller. "Unless. . .unless it's not about my trauma at all. Maybe you just don't want someone like me."
I freeze. "What?"
She gestures to herself, and the self-consciousness in the movement makes my chest ache. "I'm not exactly the typical Omega, am I? I'm plus-sized. Outspoken. Not exactly the delicate flower most Alphas want." Her laugh is hollow. "I'm not someone's first choice."
The growl that tears from my throat is involuntary. I pause for only a moment, wondering whether I am moving too fast and decide I don't give a fuck. Three strides and I'm in front of her again, my hands cupping her face, forcing her to look at me.
"Don't you ever talk about yourself like that again." My voice is low, dangerous. "You think I give a fuck about some bullshit standard? You think any of us do?"
Her eyes are wide, startled by my reaction.
"You are exactly what I want. What we all want. Every. Fucking. Curve." I emphasize each word, letting my gaze travel down her body and back up to her eyes. "I have wanted you since the moment I saw you on that screen in this very office, giving that speech about Omega rights. Your fire, your passion, your strength. Christ, Charlotte, it's intoxicating."
Her lips part in surprise, and it takes everything in me not to claim them.
"We're soldiers. Mercenaries. But we are fucking gentlemen." I can't help the smirk that crosses my face. "At least, we try to be. And none of us wanted to scare you or push you before you were ready."
She stares at me for a long moment, her warm brown eyes searching mine for any sign of deception. Finding none, she steps forward, eliminating the space between us, and tilts her face up .
"Maybe I'm ready for you to stop being such a gentleman," she whispers.
That's all it takes. I pull her into my arms again, one hand at the small of her back, the other cradling her head. Her body fits against mine like she was made for me, soft curves pressing into hard muscle.
"Now that I've touched you," I murmur against her hair, breathing in her intoxicating scent, "I don't think I'll ever stop."
If she wants my attention, she'll definitely get it. Heat be damned. It's inevitable.